


Fifty and Four Hundred Men

by WesternScribe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne of Tarth being her glorious willful self, Drama, F/M, Jaime Lannister Being an Idiot but also trying to make peace, Low Fidelity - Freeform, Mood Swings, Pregnancy sex, Smut, lover's spat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WesternScribe/pseuds/WesternScribe
Summary: After failing to obtain the aid of Brynden Tully and the riverlords for the Starks' fight to reclaim Winterfell, Brienne seeks help from a friend who should be foe. Things don't go as planned.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

Brienne

At first, she was angry.

Brienne watched Jaime whilst his lips moved, whilst his hands moved, as he gestured to her and then to the doorway behind her. His eyebrows were drawn. His eyes were pools in clover, they frenzied and pleaded she understand. He frowned. She watched him sigh. She knew he cursed, _he always curses_ , but she didn't hear a word he said. The only sounds she registered were spoken moments before.

_She's pregnant._

_I fucked her, but once- **only once**. She's going to destroy the city. Just like Aerys._

_She's pregnant._

_I fucked her._

It dawned on her, too slowly for her comfort, as she watched him pace the room and throw words, nasty words at her, that she should have known.

She should have known he would lay with his sister again. She should have known that he couldn't really love her. She should have known that whatever this was between them, was immaterial and that she was a fool to try and hold him.

Jaime wasn't hers to hold. He never will be. And she was a fool to think otherwise. A big, stupid, unwed, fool of a girl who was no longer a maid due to sweet words, a golden tongue, and her own weakness.

His child kicked in her womb. Brienne suppressed the wince and ignored the pain. Jaime would have none of her worry. This child, _her child_ , would be an heir for her father. A perfect heir. It would have no connection to forked tongued cats and their petty, dishonorable games.

Jaime stared at her. She didn't know how to respond. She hadn't been listening, didn't care to.

"Well?" Jaime said with a wave of his hand. It went back to his hip as he stood tall, ready for battle. "Are you going to stand there and act as though you've heard nothing?"

Brienne squared her shoulders. She was tired and didn't care to fight, but she would muscle her way through him, through his lies, to make her escape. She held her head high, higher than him.

"I heard nothing, ser."

"Ser?" The word was sharp, an accusation.

"Ser." She kept her eyes hard, her voice even. "You've no need to explain your actions to me. I fear it is too familiar-"

"Too familiar?! Brienne-"

"Now if you would excuse me, I've work to do for my lady."

She steeled herself and made to move past him. Her path wide, as to avoid touching him. She never wanted to touch him again, no matter how many pieces her fool heart shattered into.

Quick as a cat, he moved to block her way. Jaime placed his only hand upon her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

Brienne knew she couldn't allow this to happen. She would break soon, she knew, and her woe wasn't for him.

"Let go of me," she hissed with as much venom as she could muster. "Remove your hand, or I'll-"

"You'll what?" He sneered. "What will you do?

Without thought, her palm moved to the hilt of her sword. _Oathkeeper_. The sword he gave her. She had to leave, lest she forget herself and let bitter tears fall in front of this despicable man.

Jaime's eyes flickered to the sudden movement. The clovers became emeralds; all the hurt and desperation melted from them. Now he raged, right and proper.

"Will you slice me through, wench?"

"That has yet to be seen, ser." Her voice was as calm as his.

"Not ser. Kingslayer, you mean." His scowl lifted into the most malicious smile Brienne had ever seen. The expression was more frightening than any he'd thrown her way throughout the Riverlands, in King's Landing, even more so than when he learned of the Lady Stoneheart. "Kingslayer, you mean." He repeated.

"No, ser." She was cracking under his influence. "A creature as vile as you is not worthy of such a title."

Brienne pushed past him and fled the pavilion. She wanted to hurt him as dearly as he crippled her, but she knew she couldn't. She'd no access to his heart.

Peradventure were she the queen, perchance if she were beautiful, mayhaps if he loved her. But Brienne was no queen of love or beauty.

She fashioned herself a knight. She needn't beauty nor love when she had steel and mail to protect her weak heart, when she'd wield a sword to defend it.

And yet, she wanted to hurt him.

Her feet moved swiftly, and she was nearly there, but tears fell before she reached the tent she was given to share with Pod.

The boy's head snapped toward the door flap as she lumbered through. Immediately, he digested her distress and began to develop his own.

"Ser, my lady!" He was on his feet and at her side in the blink of an eye. "Wh-what ha-has happened? Are, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Pod." Brienne sobbed. "You're a kind lad." She grasped his cheek for a moment before turning to her cot. Suddenly, the strength in her legs began to give. She sat with a flop.

"My, my lady. Please tell ma-me wh-what ails ya-you." Podrick bent before her cot on one knee. His hand was on her shoulder. "My lady?" 

Her throat was too tight, and she was far too embarrassed to speak. It angered Brienne all over again to be in such a state in front of her squire. Her grief, as ridiculous and womanly as it was, was her own.

Brienne sobbed more and tried her hardest not to make loud noises. Her face was wet and Podrick wiped her cheeks with a cloth that smelled of lavender.

"You're a kind lad." She managed to repeat after too long to be proper.

"It is, is na-no trouble, my la-lady." He rubbed her shoulder awkwardly as she cried into her gloved hands.

This was becoming unseemly. The crying had to stop. The healing woman, Aisling, told Brienne that there may be fits of hysterical crying. She said there may be mad laughter. That she would tire and grow as weak as a young willow. The healer told Brienne that with the babe in her belly, she would be very much unlike herself. And here she was, crying as Podrick looked on, horrified.

 _I must needs stop this_. Sniffing, Brienne wiped her swollen red eyes and dragged the sleeve of her tunic across her nose. _I am a knight, in all but name. I will not break from this. No tears more shall be shed as a result of this folly._

"My lady..." Podrick said, his hand held above her shoulder, afraid to touch her. "Ser, are, are you well?"

Brienne shoved her ridiculous sorrow down to the soles of her feet and smiled, teeth showing and bright eyed.

"I am alright, Pod. Thank you."

Somehow, he looked more terrified than before she spoke. Brienne sighed. Normalizing her expression, she spoke softly.

"I am okay, Podrick. I'm just- it is merely. I seem to be overwhelmed with emotion due to the babe. Do you remember the healer from the beach, Aisling?"

Podrick nodded his head but eyed Brienne with suspicion.

"She informed me of the different changes a woman may take during such time. Crying for no clear reason was one mentioned."

Podrick's frame relaxed slightly but his eyes remained skeptical.

"So, so you wa-wa-were crying because of th-the ba-babe? There wasn't s-som-someone who har-harmed you?"

Brienne smiled small, closed mouthed and normal. "There's been no slight against me, I can assure you."

He flashed his own small smile. "Alright my lady, ser. Sh-shall we re-ra-remove your armor?"

"Yes. Please, squire."

And then, she grew cold.

She saw him, as he moved about his camp at night. Trotting around whilst speaking to one of the high-ranking knights, a rangy redhead, Addam- Ser Addam Marbrand, she remembered Jaime called him. He was always speaking. His eyes always met hers immediately. And would she look away, tried to ignore him, made to flee before he'd the opportunity to approach her.

It went on much the same for four nights. After the second occurrence, Brienne decided it was the babe that made her cow, made her too craven to demand an audience with him, so she could get what she came to his camp for and leave. She was never as such before. It must have been the babe. Brienne was no coward.

On the fifth night, he sent one of his squires to her.

She and Podrick shared a meal with two old knights. They were kindly enough and offered stew after watching her correct Podrick's fighting stances.

 _A woman!_ The bearded one exclaimed when they stumbled upon their clearing.

 _I've never seen a woman that large,_ the other said. _By the Seven, look at her armor_. He laughed. _Some bastard's got a child on her._

She knocked them on their asses and gained their respect somehow.

Podrick had just finished his second bowl when the boy came to the circle of their campfire. Peck was a good-natured lad, as he had been when last they'd met. He smiled as he stopped before her. He was a few years younger than her and had wispy brown hair softly fuzzing along his lip and jaw line. _He'll have a beard soon._

"My lady," he addressed her, "I've a missive for you from Lord Jaime."

Peck held the scroll out for her grasp.

Brienne dropped her bowl, losing her appetite. "Your lord forgets that I am not one of his soldiers."

"Yes," he said slowly, sensing her anger, "but you are in his camp. If you'd only read-"

She stood in a huff. "I do not serve Jaime Lannister." She snatched the parchment from Peck's hand and tore it apart without bothering to unfurl it. "Tell him if he wishes to speak with me, he can come himself."

Brienne dropped the shreds into the flames. She ignored the gawking stares from the knights, from even Podrick. Her feet were moving, running before she knew it, only to stop too soon. There was pain in her side. She held her swollen womb, ignored the world around her, taking steady steps to her tent.

_I fucked her._

_She's pregnant._

_Stop this_ , she told herself as the tears fell. _He's not yours. He'll never be. Forget him._

And finally, she broke.

It was Peck again. He caught her whilst brushing down her mare. Brienne decided to have the horse shoed anew before her journey back north. She sent Podrick to fetch food for their beasts as she completed her task. She thought she'd have time alone.

"Um, my lady." He called hesitantly. "My lord requests your presence."

Brienne didn't turn to look at him. She heard him shuffle his feet, snow crunching underneath his weight.

"Is that so?"

It was not an answer and she knew being obtuse with Peck served no purpose. She was angry with the Lannister. The boy was innocent of that crime. And Brienne fashioned herself a knight. _Knights protect the innocent_. She stopped brushing and shifted her attention from the horse to the young man behind her.

His nose was bright red from the frost and his breath clouded the air as he spoke. Peck rubbed his hands together for warmth but stood tall. Brienne looked down at him and sighed.

"Yes, my lady. He is in the council tent. Ser Jaime has requested you attend him posthaste."

Anger flickered within her. She knew Peck told him her response verbatim. She knew he was aware of exactly what became of that letter. _He refused my demand so why should I humor his?_

The child twisted and turned as she bit back the words she wanted to yell. She sighed, exhaling slowly. _Peck did not incur your wrath._

"My lady, are you well?" His brows drew together, and he took a step toward her. He was ever vigilant.

"I am quite alright, thank you." Brienne lied. She was getting better at lying. It almost sounded genuine to even her own ears. "I owe you an apology for how I behaved."

Peck shook his head. "No need."

"It was unbecoming and unwarranted. You're always kind to me. Please inform the Lord Commander that he shall receive me shortly."

Peck nodded his shaggy brown head, turned, and began to trudge through the snow back the way he came. Brienne chewed her bottom lip, frowning at Jaime's pavilion atop it's hill, in the center of the camp. It looked a lush fortress of doom in that moment. The firelight from inside made its fabric walls glow red and orange.

_I fucked her._

She didn't want to speak to him now.

_Only once._

She's sure she would never care to speak to him again.

Her horse whinnied beside her. She patted the steed's nose and sighed.

"What do you think I should do? He's a horrible man."

The mare sniffed and nudged her shoulder.

"You're right. Lady Sansa and her brother will need an answer soon." She sighed again. "I just wish I could get it from anyone else in the world."

Brienne made sure the horses' reins were fastened to the post they stood before, placed blankets upon their backs, and made her way uphill to that abhorrent pavilion, dreading every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same world as The Prisoner's Dilemma and Snow on the Bluff. Takes place between the two. The latter is a mutli-chaptered long fic that I'm restructuring into one (or two) shots. A little less intimidating to write that way.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime

"What do you want, ser?"

 _Ser_. Although her face is expressionless, she says the words too quickly, too sharply, and her stoic posture confirms what he's thought. She's nervous, more hurt than angry. He stays seated and silent while she stands in the doorway of his tent. Brienne seems determined not to meet his gaze and looks everywhere but. Eyes darting around haphazardly, she looks like a wounded deer, ready for him to slaughter.

Jaime smiles affably. "Come now, into the tent completely if you will, my lady."

She purses her lips but complies. She stops just before his long table, maps and wooden sigils and plans of attack strategically arranged before them.

"You wished to speak to me, Lord Commander?"

 _Lord Commander_. Jaime glares at her and is delighted when she glowers back.

"Peck told me what you've done." He says the words slowly. "You're acting childish." Jaime raises an eyebrow. "If your aim is to avoid me entirely, why haven't you left?"

Brienne makes an exasperated sound and crosses her arms about her chest. She has difficulty with this and can't fully get both elbows and forearms into the correct positions. Her womb is heavily swollen now and the sight of her, armor clad, in chain and mail, is quite amusing. Jaime is certain he is the first war commander in the history of man to entertain thoughts of maternity armor. 

He smiles broadly and her frown melts into a proper scowl. She sniffs. "I will leave once you give me your answer, ser."

"Ser-"

"Yes. And from the looks of it, you'll not make your decision this night either."

"What-"

"Now if you would excuse me-"

"You are not excused! I'm not finished with you yet." He is standing now, sneering.

Brienne walks around the chairs and quickly closes the distance between them. She is seething once she reaches him and she points her finger in his face as she speaks. Her eyes blaze deep blue fire, and it excites him.

"I am not under your command, ser. I came here in a gesture of... of..," her words falter, the fire extinguished, and her gaze drops to their muddied boots.

"Good will?" He supplies with the slightest degree of mirth.

"Peace." She says sharply.

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe." His smile is tight. "I've been the one extending pleasantries to you."

"I don't want your _pleasantries_." She says the word in disgust. "I merely want what I've asked you for. I don't want your letters or your flowers or your gold."

Jaime narrows his eyes, "No, you want a portion of my army. Simple affections will not suffice for you, will they wench?"

"Simple affections," she huffs in disbelief, "your family has wronged the kin of the child I am sworn to. She is displaced in the world because of your father and sister. She just wants to go home. A portion of your soldiers is a small price to pay for such atrocities."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

He tilts his head slightly, looks at the hundreds of freckles upon her cheeks, at the cracked, splintering skin of her chapped lips.

"And there's nothing more you want?"

"You owe me nothing more, ser. We can part on the terms we always have." Her sad voice is gentle.

He can feel his anger slipping away but tries to hold fast. Jaime takes a step back and looks down, scratching the back of his neck.

"I shouldn't have told you." He says the words mostly to himself.

She's silent for a long moment. Her breath hitches. "Why did you do it?"

He should be angrier because of her questioning. Jaime doesn't have to explain himself to anyone. Not to her either, swollen with his child she may be. He thinks of one hundred and one retorts to her question, each more malicious than the last, when she raises her eyes from their boots and meets his gaze.

Pools of sadness. Pools that can so easily draw him in. Drown him in. He's hurt her, and not from the stinging surface cuts of his words. His actions have slashed sharp and jagged into her very core.

Jaime is many things, but never craven. "What can I tell you? What will you believe? I'm not a good man, Brienne." He reaches out, touches her mailed forearm and moves closer. He is relieved when she doesn't pull away.

"I've made mistakes in my life. That was one of them, but this," Jaime rests his only hand upon her modified breastplate, right above her swollen womb, "this I do not regret."

A tear slips down her scarred cheek. "You're cruel."

He shrugs. "I am."

Jaime weaves his fingers into her hair and pulls her down into a kiss. She places her palms upon his chest. Her fingers slip across the leather until she finds straps and strings and begins to undo them. He laughs into the kiss he starts to deepen and leans her back against the table. Jaime breaks away from her mouth and kisses her chin, her jaw, her neck, while she pushes the maps and figurines behind her aside. He lifts her slightly until she rests upon the table.

She leaves his voice husky. "Help me take this bloody armor off you."

And like one under his command, she obeys. She is out of her plate and mail and down to her tunic in what seems like an eternity. Jaime had to break apart their kisses more times than he'd like to count.

He kisses her slowly and well as he helps her untie the strings of her undertunic. She shivers when he lifts the thing off, up and over her head. She is bare above the waist and the firelight exposes each new attribute of her body.

He's known her many times, but each time he finds something new.

Her breasts have swelled in their time apart and now somewhat look like proper teats. Jaime thought they may. Cersei's breasts grew heavy with the second pregnancy. Brienne's nipples are rather small while erected this time and Jaime flicks his thumb across the right one.

He's granted a gasp, one of her girlish, innocent gasps, and he smirks. "I see you've missed my touch."

He takes the nipple into his mouth and sucks, swirling his tongue around the bud. Within moments, Jaime's granted sweet, creamy liquid. Far richer, and more pleasant than any milk he's tasted. Brienne gasps again and he looks up into her startled eyes.

"How can this be?" She breathes.

He raises his head and smiles, a stream of the pale liquid trailing from the left side of his mouth to his bearded chin. "It happens on occasion."

He'd the chance to drain Cersei dry before two of the births.

Jaime kisses her lips once more before returning to her breasts. He kneads the other one gently, playing with the nipple, as he drinks his fill. She cries out softly and runs her fingers through his hair.

"Jaime..," she sighs.

 _Jamie_. He chuckles and moves his hand down into her breeches before going to the other teat. His hand splays through the course hair above her thighs until he finds what he's looking for. The nub is wet and warm when he rubs circles into it with his index finger. She moans and hugs his head tighter to her chest. He works her clitoris for a while longer, runs a finger or two along the line of her slit before removing his palm from her breeches and his mouth from her breasts, making her whimper in response.

"Yes. I think it's safe to say you've missed my pleasantries, my lady." He smirks and loses focus of his jests as he looks into her lust-filled, half-lidded eyes. "Help me- lift up so I can pull your trousers down."

She takes them off herself before pulling him into a kiss upon her, upon the table. He's between her thighs and she rubs her bare cunt against his straining breeches. Jaime wriggles out of his jerkin and pulls his tunic off in one fluid motion. The first time he's done it with one hand. It's something he thought he would never again do with relative ease. He is ever hopeful when Brienne is involved.

Her hands are upon his chest in an instant. Jaime runs his tongue over the top row of her teeth and meets her tongue, dancing in the rhythm of her movements as his hand returns to her cunt. He slips one finger inside slowly and smiles when it goes in slick and easy. She groans against his ear and he moves a second finger in to work her.

"Always ready, always eager for it, aren't you?"

She may have flushed from his words, from his fingers, from his lips, but he doesn't know. He doesn't care.

Brienne reaches down and grabs the laces of his breeches until he springs free. She grabs hold of him lightly, making him hiss. She smiles small at the sound before he recaptures her mouth with his own.

He meets her tongue hungrily, makes sure she's secure upon the table, and slowly rubs the tip of his cock against the lips of her cunt. Her moan is guttural. Jaime knows it drives her to madness, it always does, and he keeps it up until he can stand it no longer.

Positioned and aching, he sinks into her little by little. She inhales, exhales slowly and open mouthed as he moves. He pulls out slightly and dives back, a bit further than before. He exits completely and stretches her to the hilt of himself.

Her gasps and moans fill his ears, making the sensation of her, of this, divine. Brienne's face contorts beautifully. Mayhaps she could almost be beautiful, like this, when she feels so soft, so sweet around his cock that he thinks he can die in this bliss.

Moving in an easy, measured pace, Jaime pushes her thighs, her legs up into the air with his forearms, and opens her more to him. He rests his palm upon her womb and rubs circles around its expanse. She holds his gaze all the while, breathing slowly through each thrust.

He is delighted when Brienne grabs his palm and brings it to her lips. She takes his thumb into her mouth and sucks it in time with his movements, and Jaime's not sure how, but his cock gets even harder.

_She'll be the death of me. This girl._

She is bolder now, after so many fumblings. For a while, he wondered when she would shed her meekness, her timidity, and take some semblance of control in their couplings. _Perhaps it's the lion that grows within her, prompting such agreeable ferocity_.

The thought bubbles laughter from his chest. Jaime takes his finger from her mouth, his hand from her grasp, and raises her into a sitting position. He kisses her as he withdraws from her cunt, as she groans in protest.

He smirks and ushers her off the table. "Turn over."

It struck him odd, at first, that he was the vocal one, the one with coherent thought enough for words that aren't just her name. Cersei is just as talkative as he, more so even, in her demands. But Brienne isn't Cersei, and she's never been overly conversational.

She raises her eyebrows slightly at his request but complies all the same and he peppers kisses upon her freckled right shoulder. His left hand holds her waist, softer, rounder in pregnancy, and his stump goes to her hip, wider, readying for birth. Jaime bends her a tad, the tip of her round belly lightly brushing the table. He kisses her neck, her shoulder blades, her spine between them, down and up again, until his lips brush her earlobe, and he takes it between his teeth.

Brienne squeaks and he chuckles as he reaches down, slipping his fingers past the cheeks of her arse, finding her slick cunt. She moans lowly when he slips three fingers in and begins to pump. She moans his name.

"Jaime... Jaime... _Jaime.._."

And his smile is downright predatory, all teeth and satisfaction. He whispers sweet words in her ear.

"You like that. I know you do. You're so soft, so tight. So sweet."

Jaime removes his hand, bends her a bit further with his stumped forearm, all the while stroking his cock with his palm, slick with her juices, and moves himself to the entrance of her cunt. He's the one to moan this time. He barely notices her gasps.

He moves slowly, similar to before, holding her hips and testing the elasticity of her. They've only done this position twice and Jaime finds that horrendously insufficient. Each thrust is different: tighter, more constricted, begging for stretching, for exploration.

His name is a mantra on her lips, a prayer. She's praying to him. _It's so different from Cersei_.

She starts to buck backwards, against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Please...," she pants. "Jamie... please."

"Please what?" He grunts. His concentration is slipping and each slap of her arse against him makes it harder to keep his control.

"More Jamie- I want... I want... to see you."

He does it quickly. He pulls from her. Helps her up. As soon as Brienne spins, he's upon her, leaning, nearly pushing her back against the table. She fastens her legs around his hips, and he pulls her head to his. Jamie kisses her, rests his forehead against hers as he enters her swiftly. She kisses him again and he begins to move. Thrusting as slowly as he can while she grinds her cunt against him.

Her swollen stomach is such an interesting thing between them. Her fingers are in his hair, on his shoulder. His stump rests atop the swollen mound while his palm grasps her hip. She moans into his mouth.

Jaime breaks their kiss, places a peck upon her lips before he pushes her, silently telling her to lie back. He holds one of her thighs up and leans somewhat atop her, over the table, gaining leverage. Brienne coos when he hits a spot he hasn't yet reached. He laughs a little, kisses her quick, and picks up the pace.

She's saying his name, that prayer again, and he reaches down to rub circles into her clitoris. Her coos grow to cries and his grunts are lost to his ears. He knows he won't last long, he would have ten years ago, so he tries to overtake her before he loses himself.

"Jaime!... Yes! Yes! Yes!"

And she goes stiff. Her blue eyes roll back to whiteness and the walls of her cunt seize and tighten around him. She arches into him, as much as her figure will allow, and it's nearly too much to bear. He keeps pumping until he's spilling what seems to be the entirety of his soul into her.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five thrusts before he collapses, head resting between her breasts. Jaime rubs circles in the center of her palm with his thumb as he catches his breath.

After an eternity, he's able to breathe properly enough. _When did I become an old man?_ He raises his face to hers and he smiles. She flushes and gives him a horsey grin before he climbs off her.

There are cloths of fabric in the corner close to chests of scrolls and parchment. He grabs two and a flagon of water. Jaime brings them to the table, dips the cloth into the water, and starts to clean her thighs of his seed before she can protest, before she decides to gather her things and flee from him.

"You know," his voice is still a bit hoarse, "there's always a place for you under my command. You can be a general."

She snatches the cloth from his hand and drops it into the water again, refreshing it.

"I've no wish to join a Lannister army." Her chin pokes out stubbornly, and Jaime becomes slightly irritated.

"As you will." He says though not as sharply as he intends.

He moves to dress himself and is surprised when she comes to help him. She is already in her tunics and breeches when she begins to lace the knots of his trousers. Jaime watches her deft fingers move to the strings of his tunic and jerkin. What he wouldn't give for his hand back. A futile thought he thinks much too often.

He looks at her face until her eyes meet his. "I meant what I said. I do not regret you, or the child." Brienne's big blue eyes are sad. "Will you still leave?"

Jaime takes her hand, brings her knuckles to his lips. "I have to."

"You wish to."

"I... We swore an oath-" she begins.

"Yes, yes, I know," he drops her hand and turns away to look through the scrolls that were cast aside during their love session. "I was there, if you recall. Here."

He holds out a scroll to her, sealed and stamped.

"What's this?" She asks, skeptically.

Annoyance picks at him. "It is what you asked for, Brienne. Your soldiers. Your aid. Take them and help the Stark girl and her bastard brother reclaim their home."

Her expression softens. "Jaime I-"

He holds up his hand, his only hand. "No need to thank me. Since you're so insistent to return to that thrice damned wall of ice, I'll make sure you don't die on the way there. You'll take fifty of my men here with you and the other four hundred will meet you as you near the Neck."

"Jaime." He looks at her with thin lips and a raised brow. "Thank you."

She kisses his cheek, and he smiles the lopsided grin she pretends to hate.

"We Lannisters are a generous bunch."

Brienne narrows her eyes, and he laughs outright. "My Lady, will you at least stay with me for the night?"

It sounds too much like pleading to his ears. When did he start to beg for things?

"I shouldn't-"

"Come now, you'll be gone with the morning. And all I've here are tired old soldiers."

She holds her lips stubbornly. In her eyes, she tries to hide the grief tormenting her soul, but she's never been even a passable liar, and she stinks of the heartache she's trying to mask.

It pulls strings of pity within him, cords of regret.

"There are plenty of women who follow your host."

"Aye. Women who-," Jaime attempts to steer her from the destination she's trying to reach.

"And you don't need the company of a _big, stupid, stubborn wench_."

She says the last words in a mock voice. _Always disagreeable_. Why is he trying to convince her to stay anyway? _Because you can touch her freely. She fucks you whenever you like. She's innocent and honorable and her cunt will only ever be yours._

Jaime resolves to calm himself of his rising anger. He smiles. "You _are_ a big, stupid, stubborn wench." She frowns, makes to strike him, but cat quick, he catches her hand. "But you're the only big, stupid, stubborn wench I wish to spend this night with."

"Let go of me." She growls. She growls more and more each time he sees her. _The cub is turning her lion._

"No. Listen-"

"I don't want to listen!"

"Just! Listen." She stops. "I should apologize for it, but I won't. That won't change things. I fucked her only but once since I started with you. It was a mistake you mule of a girl. I've been with no one else, as I know you have."

Brienne narrows her eyes. "How are you sure?"

A laugh puffs from him. "Because I know you too well."

She exhales through her nose. "Okay." Her voice is small, remorseful, resolved.

Her sadness is irritating him. "Alright. No frowning. You have your men. You'll be rid of me at sunrise. Grab your breast plate and let's go."

The bedding in his tent isn't terrible, it just isn't great. It's not good either, but Brienne makes laying on it feel heavenly.

They fuck again. Twice. Although Jaime wouldn't consider it fucking. It's far too tender for the word.

Funny, he was becoming tender as he aged.

Jaime licks his seed from her cunt both times afterwards and it propels her to a rather precious type of lunacy.

She weeps sweet, maidenly tears, and pulls his head back up to hers for eager, fevered kisses. The thrill of it nearly overwhelms him. It is different from when he would lick Cersei clean, when they had more than an hour alone at a time, but Brienne isn't Cersei.

The dawn comes too quickly. He kisses her deeply, longingly, thoroughly enough to hold him over until next time. She's mailed and armored and mounted upon a mare long before he'd like.

Jaime assures the men escorting her that they'll be hanged, drawn, and quartered should any illness or injury befall her. He makes her promise she won't do anything so stupid as to get herself killed.

Jaime doesn't make her promise to return to him. He knows she will. Just as he knows she won't die. He'll die long before she does.

A little after dawn, he watches Brienne, her squire, and the party of idiots he's tasked with her safety ride away from his camp. He stays on the roadway until they are out of sight, until Peck comes with a missive from the capital.

Invaders have attacked the Stormlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Jaime. Will he ever learn to apologize? We can only hope. Thanks for reading.


End file.
